boxing day 2014. guyana

“Whore!” was a frequent and common insult slung at her. Whore. He was fucking her whenever he pleased, had brought her to his house for that purpose, as well as to cook and clean. She had been working at the rice mill and looking after his mother who was sick and lived in the same village. Over time, when he came to visit his mother, they caught each other’s attention and started to communicate. She had come to the house about three years ago, accompanying his mom on a visit. Mother eventually went back to the village but she stayed. It was good in the beginning (although never great; he not-so-jokingly referred to her as the maid), but soon deteriorated. Still, she kept on waking up at 5am to cook for him, to wash his clothes, to clean his house, and to work in his yard. And of course, sex whenever he wanted. Whore. Uh huh.

He pretended to be a Brahmin but in reality was nothing more than a common drunk of average intelligence and oversized ego. He was a little man, with a rice belly, and a hand that had been hurt in a car accident some years back. It hung at a strange angle and he couldn’t use it as well as the other one. He was well known, something of an expert in his field, and big man in the community. Regular mandir-goer, and dedicated Party member, but underneath the civilized veneer- just a brute and bully. He abused her regularly- ordered her around, swore and shouted at her, ridiculed her, etc. I don’t know why she stayed with him, took all that shit, did all that work for him, but then again, there are many things I don’t understand about Guyanese people, native though I am.

A lot of women believe they can change a man and stay to try again and again. Women are also brainwashed to think that they are nothing without a man, that having one is better than being alone, that they deserve what they get, even if it was shit, and all they can do is make the best of things- tek the licks, so to speak. I told her to leave all the time, as well as to fucking poison his food, but she didn’t listen to me. I got sick of hearing her moan and groan, and feel sorry for herself. “GO!” “JUST FUCKING GO!” I raged at her. They had no children together, and she had family she could turn to for help, etc. But still she stayed. I grew tired of listening to her. Yesterday- Christmas Day- there had been shouting, screaming, threatening- the usual. I’d heard everything from my apartment downstairs. When she came crying to me as usual, I’d given her the cold shoulder though, disgusted with her passivity. The morning afterwards she’d given me a bright “Happy Boxing Day” greeting and laughed when I commented dryly on her changed demeanor.

But then around 7:30pm, the rumbling started again. It was louder than usual, and immediately I knew I’d have to intervene. I pulled on some clothes hurriedly, grabbed the torch/taser, my phone, and raced outside. Went up the back verandah first since that was closest, but that door was locked tight. So I ran back down and around to the side door. Banged on that for a while but nobody came. The rumbling continued inside. When the door finally opened and I rushed in, his black buktuh was pulled down to one side and she was slumped on the floor, crying. He swung a hand and then a foot at her. I burst in shouting and screaming at him to “STOP THAT!” and “LEAVE HER ALONE!” Told her to get her stuff, that she needed to go. It took her a while to pack. I waited by the door, outside. Went in to shout at A for not doing anything. He had been there the whole time, standing in the verandah, gazing at the empty street and steadfastly ignoring the fight going on behind him. “Nah me! Me not going to interfere in dem people bizness,” he maintained, even after I cussed him out.

Suddenly, I remembered the gun. The man had a gun. Somehow, I’d forgotten about that. Well, not really. As I’d banged on the door, I’d remembered. I had the taser with me, but that against a gun wasn’t exactly good odds. I heard her screaming and busing him still, and swore to myself. This wasn’t the time for that; this was the time to get out fast. I strode back into the rear apartment, beyond the door marked ‘PRIVATE” and shouted at her to hurry the fuck up. Finally, she came out, with 3 bags and tears streaming down her face. She’d been asking him for money; he’d given her none. I gave her what I could and waited with her while she called her aunt, and then the taxi. He came down in the meanwhile, telling her sorry and not to go. I hollered at him, told him he was a disgraceful big man, no Brahmin, a real low class coolie skunthole, with no respect for women, uncouth and disgusting, a slave master. He was pitiful now. The car came and she left. I stalked back into my apartment (well, technically his apartment), slammed and padlocked the door. Boy, it sure felt good to tell him off! I had been listening to his shit for too long now, but it was usually just ignorant talk and I’d never had to intervene before. But verbal abuse and emotional abuse are still abuse and enough was fucking enough. I’ve had enough.

Fifteen minutes later, as I sipped my tequila and did my deep breathing exercises, I heard a man’s voice calling outside, repeating what seemed like a command of some sort. I’d seen a horse out there earlier; the sound I was hearing was the sort one might make to a horse, yes. This noise went on for a while. Eventually, I put back on my clothes again and went back outside. A horse floundered in the trench by the gate.

I didn’t understand how he got in there in the first place, and why he wasn’t fighting to come out, but apparently he’d been in there for a little while, stuck in the mud and tired. The man I’d heard calling was pulling on a rope around his neck. A little boy, around 8 or 9years old, watched excitedly. People from the neighboring houses, which 15 minutes earlier had been dark and silent during the rumbling, suddenly appeared on verandahs and doorsteps. Nobody came over to help in this case either though; just stood and watched this one fine man pulling desperately on the rope. I wanted to know whose horse it was and how it had gotten into the trench. Was it sick, hurt, or injured? It didn’t appear so. Rope guy said the horse belonged to a man who lived around the corner, who had a horse cart. “Fat Man?” I asked. Yes, Fat Man. Soon he came waddling down the road. He swore at the other man and picked up a plank. “Don’t hit him,” I said. “He’s just tired. Give him some time to rest a bit, regain his strength.” He was a big horse. Sharouk Khan, I heard Fat Man saying, but I wasn’t sure if that was the name of the man or the horse.

Fine man pulled while Fat Man shouted directions and things. The horse flopped this way, then that. Its nose was pointed toward the bridge but that was too high for him; he would have to be turned to the other side. He made a gigantic effort, ending up facing forward, but still not out. His sides heaved. Fat Man and I cursed. The little boy repeated my curse. “Hey, stop that!” I told him. All of a sudden, a car came racing towards us. A truckload of police sped behind it in hot pursuit. They bounced over the speedbumps and then- at the corner, a shot rang out.

Oh shit. Some shit was going down; the police were shooting and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is how, just like that, people does dead in Guyana. This is why I don’t hang around outside and lock my door as soon as the sun sets. But the horse foundered still. I was afraid if we left it, it might snort up trench water into its lungs and drown to death. If that happened and we avoided getting shot by the police, we’d then have a big, heavy, *dead* horse to pull from the trench and lord knows, it was hard enough moving a live one. So we continued pulling, ducking low, and keeping an eye/ear on the action at the corner nearby. The police vehicle suddenly came careening back down the road, our way. Somebody (not me) said “Ask them for help!” Fat Man called out to them as they passed by. They slowed, looked, listened, then sped back off. Fat Man sucked his teeth and I cursed again. Useless muthafuckers. The kid stayed quiet this time. A couple other people drove by, slowed, looked and listened, but none stopped to assist.

Finally, the horse reared and lunged and surged and made it out of the trench. Good night, the little boy grinned at me as they led him away. I came back inside and washed the mud off my skin. Thankfully there was still tequila. The end, for now. Tomorrow is another story.

abuse wheel


wyclef jean, just another silly negroe

mark jacobs lives!

for some reason i thought this story was on my blog 🙂 it appears in my book attempt chronicling some of my experiences in haiti. i wrote this in 2011
Wyclef Jean on his Ducati

wyclef jean, just another silly negroe

at another point in time we will just be able to sit, point out the silly negroes and chase their pathetic asses on down the road.
unfortunately, we’re not there yet.
step one is still necessary but we have to come up with systems and procedures to purge silly negroes from the planet and be on guard for the new ones who will pop up to fill their shoes.

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Over-consumption: the silent epidemic

Over-consumption: the silent epidemic
Posted By Staff Writer On December 12, 2014 In Daily,Features

Unbeknownst to many, an epidemic is destroying humanity. It’s particularly virulent in December – the season of ‘giving’. Now, more than other times of the year, the disease of over-consumption rages worldwide. The pressure is on to buy new curtains and decorations for the house, toys for the children, gifts for friends and family members. Buying things to demonstrate love and caring to other people is common practice, the world over. Consumption is also an inevitable feature of our world today. Nowadays, few people can truly, independently sustain themselves and their families. Even if one grows one’s own food, there would still be need to purchase other essential items from others. That’s not the problem; things become problematic when people start to consume above and beyond their basic needs. Of course, life is about more than just survival—it’s human to want to enjoy oneself—in fact this is key to our health and well-being. However, the problem occurs when consumption becomes excessive, when over-consumption corrupts ordinary human desire and makes people lose perspective about what is really important.

Over-consumption affects human and planetary well-being in numerous ways. It warps relationships between people and erodes our humanity, making us blind to the suffering our actions inflict on others. It poisons and destroys the natural world, making us forgetful of the things necessary for our very survival- clean water, air, and a balanced environment. It transforms wants into needs, promotes and normalizes exploitation, and creates systems where individuals hurt themselves, others, and the environment in a quest to accumulate more and more material goods, beyond those simply necessary for basic survival/enjoyment.

In a society where desire for material goods overwhelms most other considerations, bonds between people get frayed. Instead of relating to one another based on mutual respect, empathy and understanding, as fellow human beings sharing a finite space (planet Earth), with the same rights, and with similar hopes, dreams, and aspirations, the epidemic of over-consumption creates a skewed perspective where profits trump human rights, where happiness and worth is based on accumulation and where one is judged on the amount of money they have and the things they are able to acquire. Ignorance and destruction is perpetuated as compassion, humanity, and the forests wither. Poor people, wildlife, and the environment are seen as disposable and unworthy of attention and consideration unless they can be exploited in some way to make more money – either as producers or consumers of more things.

People infected by the virus of over-consumption are never satisfied; they always want more. They willingly submit to wage slavery, trading their time and often health and well-being for long and arduous work. Those who can, employ others to do the dirtier, more back-breaking tasks, caring little about their safety or well-being, and paying them less than livable wages.

Exploitation is rife, on multiple levels. Trees that produce the oxygen that is necessary for human life are cut down without a second thought. Water—another essential element of life—is poisoned by chemicals used to extract gold and other minerals from the ground, and by toxins used in various sorts of processing. Factories pollute the air we need to breathe as they produce items which, for the most part, we don’t need. Animals are hunted to extinction; their habitats razed for money-making purposes. Garbage—the remnants of products we consume—piles up.

Marketing and media are used to manipulate and create more desire and hunger for material goods in people’s minds, and to get people to over-consume. From a young age, people are fed messages—both blatant and subliminal—that success depends on accumulation. People suffer emotional anguish and social distress if they are not able to afford the most fashionable clothes, the most up-to-date gadgets, the newest vehicle, the biggest house. In this damaged world, the love of money trumps all, and no money often means no love.

Battles are fought and countless lives lost in the quest to control resources. Banditry becomes a way of life, with blue and white collar criminals abounding, from small time bicycle thieves to big time bankers, businesses, and corporations terrorizing people and communities worldwide. Even the systems that are supposed to protect become infected. Politicians—in Guyana and worldwide—are guided now not by concern for the well-being of their fellow people, nor by doing what’s best for society at large, but by corporate interests and greed, and by the base desire to amass as much as they can before they have to give up their hold on power. Social safety nets are shredded, people made poorer, and quality of life determined by one’s ability to pay. In this inequitable system, poor people are seen as inferior, with less access to goods, services, opportunities, power, rights, or recourse to justice.

All is not lost though; there is an antidote to the virus of over-consumption. Like any learned behaviour, it can be un-learned. Yes, that may require substantial effort and may earn one social censure for seemingly going against the grain of most of the rest of society, but reducing consumption is necessary and critical if humans are to survive on planet Earth. The current level of exploitation is unsustainable and cannot be maintained for much longer; already signs of environmental and social collapse are evident. What is needed at this juncture is an overhaul of our governance, educational, and economic systems, to one that is more equitable and life-sustaining. Relations between people must be re-built on grounds other than just economic; connections must be forged based on mutuality, sharing, and support. We must remember that in the web of life, everything is connected and we all need each other for survival. This holiday season and throughout the year, strive for better health and well-being by reducing over-consumption of material items and increasing quality time with others. Love and understanding are what we need more than shiny toys or trinkets, and justice and equity the only way for society to thrive.

Sherlina can be contacted with any questions or comments at
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The facts of life

A day in the life… of a Jamaican lesbian

real ting. uh huh


Tamitsansai-BadgyalJazz The faux-lez mommy and her dog, apparently.

               I had planned to write/publish this post tomorrow, but I’m so appalled that I’ve decided to post it right now. Up until about three hours ago, I’d been having a pretty uneventful day. Woke up at noon, walked my dog, had lunch, then spent the greater part of the afternoon searching for a welcome letter that would allow me to reclaim my old phone number — my phone was stolen two weeks ago. Where is she going with this, you ask? Don’t worry, we’ll get there soon.

Before I get into it, let me just state very clearly that I have no problem with lesbians, homosexual men, or any other kinds of ‘sexuals’ that exist (no offense meant, there are just SO many to cover). I simply live my life and allow people to live theirs in the way that most pleases…

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